Run No. 960                                                                       Members: 45

Date: Friday, 16 February 2001                                       Guests: 19

Where: Clementi Woods carpark                                     Virgins: 2

Hares: G-String and No Good (& Coo-Chi-Coo)            Visitors: 3                           Returnees: 3

Missed it again this week owing to being about thirty seconds late and finding that the hares had bogged off with no regard to the unfortunate latecomers slogging away on pubic (!) transport. Not that there was anyone else in such a parlous position except the elegant Camel, who unfolded himself out of a taxi like a piece of human origami and then tried to break into Loose Change’s van. I managed to prevent this piece of blatant vandalism and altruistically (that’s one for you CCC – a word you not only don’t know the meaning of but probably can’t even wrap your brain round the concept….) offered to look after his things while he did the run. Camel leapt at the offer and loped off, ostrich-like, into the distance leaving me with a long wait for Jason. At least I cheered myself up a bit by phoning Beta Bitch who was bracing herself with a couple of quick beers before having to attend a school debate. Tee – hee!

Anyway, you don’t want to know about any of this do you? (Too right! – Ed.) Oh there you are. How was your holiday?  - So, I can’t say much about the run as I wasn’t on it for long, and when I finally dumped the stuff with Jason I think I only found Wednesday’s trail. But all my spies tell me it was a jolly good run and the pack came in largely together and in good time to get stuck in to the main business of the evening. Astronut, our revered Keeper of the Cards, was missing somewhere between here and Korea. (Were people more worried about him or the cards? – Ed.) So the hash had to revert to the old-economy style solution of writing their names down – an idea that bemused most of them so much that I had to do it for them. (And thanks to Vietnam Rose for helping with the cards when they finally turned up.)

So finally it was time for the circle with a depleted committee doing all sorts of unaccustomed tasks, including a worried Beagles having trouble keeping up with beer pouring duties as he kept forgetting which end of the can to open.

Alpha Bitch took command and called in the hares, G-String and No Good, as well as uberharefuhrer Coo Chi Coo, and the on-on was pointed out at the Clementi Seafood Restaurant just across the car park. And a good run was awarded by all.

Next Week’s run is the Battle of the F--k Me shoes with Indy and moi presiding over the hash shit – er – good run at Dempsey Road. And there will be a prize for the best pair of ludicrous footwear on display.

Peeking Ong slithered up to me to return my clothes left at his party last week. Don’t ask.

Returnees welcomed back were the Whingeing Camel Machine trio. Visitors welcomed were Spiderman from Sunday hash, Flora and Aaron.

No Good got a birthday down down as did Walkie Talkie, and No Good stayed in the circle to be the Hare Whip. She did the time-honoured thing of ratting on her co-hare by calling in G-String. Apparently she couldn’t do a recce on Saturday as she was busy doing something else and she conveyed this other activity to No Good in pantomime fashion. No Good conjectured that she was booked for a bit of enthusiastic blow-jobbery but it was more innocent than that. (Unlikely in G-String’s case, surely? – Ed.) She was merely going to wrap her lips round a microphone for a bit of karaoke.

G-String then carried on by calling in poor old Phonetic Dick, who took bit of a hammering tonight. She wanted to know how long he’d been hashing. Phoney thought for a while but found the question a bit taxing. A long time, he said, dimly. But apparently at the beginning of the run this experienced hasher thought he was all ready to go – except he had forgotten to change his footwear and was about to lope round the woods in his sandals. Duh! Well, we shouldn’t mock the benighted old crock, should we? We’ll all be like that one day. He wanted the right of reply but a) he forgot G-String’s hash name and b) by the time he’d found it out he’d forgotten what he wanted to say….

G-String also called in Flakey for borrowing ten bucks off her and promising delights unknown this side of a Turkish brothel if she would accommodate him. All a-flutter, G-String obliged, only to find that the bounder wanted to romance another prospect – Quicksand - by plying her with Kentucky Fried Chicken. (And they say romance is dead! – Ed.)

Mystery Mystery Whip was Doris, and continuing the Valentine’s Day theme, he whipped the ever-staggering Phoney, who was at this stage forgetting how to walk, where he was, who he was etc. Phoney’s idea of a romantic dinner was to take his wife to the Lakeview. (What’s wrong with that? – Ed.) Beats me. But Doris whipped Phoney for being a cheap bastard.

Doris was then very unkind to Iron Crotch, highlighting the fact that sometimes she arrives dressed for the run but somehow manages to avoid actually doing it. Another charge I have trouble with as I think that’s perfectly ok.

Then he got his wife, who wasn’t there, for deciding she is going to start running on the hash because she failed her driving test. Don’t ask me. A stand-in Japanese undertook lookalike duties. You’ve guessed it – G-String.

Finally he criticised Dirty Hacker for complaining that there are no showers on Pulau Ubin- where the Kampong hash are running – thus not living up to his name at all and being a big girl’s blouse all round.

The redoubtable Astronut now hove in having arrived at Changi at 7.15. Now if that doesn’t show dedication (Idiocy, I call it! – Ed.) I don’t know what does.

Phonetic decided he wanted a right of reply to Doris at this stage but couldn’t – you’ve got it! – remember Doris’s hash name. Becoming par for the course.

Mystery Mystery Whip Steptoe wanted to whip some lazy idle bastard who warned him – Steptoe - not to do a particular loop as he wouldn’t be back until midnight if he did. Then the unfortunate Steptoe caught Phoney’s disease and couldn’t remember Squire’s hash name so had to do a down-down for that. Not the end of the story, though. Steptoe brought in the follically challenged Murkily (predictably politically-incorrect cries of - “One black one, one white one…” from the great unwashed) who was spotted at one stage adjusting his girly hair band. (What on earth does he need it for? – Ed.) And later, back at the run site, Squire was overheard admonishing Murkury for water wastage. “They’d be really grateful for that in Bombay!” cried green activist Squire.

Steptoe moved on from this to embarrass a visitor – Spiderman from the Sunday hash. Steptoe had asked him in a spirit of amity if his wife had given birth yet. “No,” replied the arachnid one – a sort of first cousin in my terminally tiny family. “She’s only five months pregnant -er - isn’t she?” To which Steptoe wanted to know how the hell should he know – it’s not as if he had anything to do with it. Spiderman was whipped for his blurness.

Alpha Bitch finally remembered to pull in G-String for a birthday down-down.

The Prick of the Week made a welcome reappearance as Strapless had finally managed to wrest it from the grasp of his wife and bring it along. He presented it to No Good for asking  wifey last week – in the presence of hubby – if she was a virgin. Strapless took this slur on his manhood rather personally, so No Good is the happy recipient of the large but rather tired-looking black member  (No, she doesn’t mean you, Squire. – Ed.) for the week.

Pussy of the Week was presented by Shitsteam to the increasingly doddering Phoney Dick, who had been complaining all week about having trouble sleeping with two women at the same time. All right, we all know he’s talking about his wife and daughter, but why let the truth get in the way of a cheap laugh? Slipstream decided that the Pussy would give him another female to join the crowded marital bed.

Time for AOB. Phoney finally managed to drag himself out of his Alzheimic stupor enough to remember Doris’s hash name and get him in the circle for some sort of grudge payback. Unfortunately, his charge got slightly lost, as Faker – trying but failing to follow the proceedings – yelled out, “Use his hash name!”, and distracted us. Faker obviously hadn’t realised that Doris is actually a man, and therefore, it’s fairly probable that Doris is his hash name, unless his parents were being whimsical. So she was whipped for her misjudged intervention by the eagle-eared Astronut, ever delighted to call attention to someone else’s botch-ups.

My turn. I had to mention a linguistic problem between the US-born Camel and myself at the start of the run when we were both wondering what do do with our bags. Camel asked me what I was going to do with my fanny-bag. Now, coming from the UK, I found this intrusive questioning somewhat personal. We do have this problem with our shared language, don’t we? I wonder what would happen if I went to a US hotel and asked the bellboy to knock me up in the morning….

During my peroration (I’ve always wanted to get that one in the report…) I had used the word “magnanimous”. I suppose it was unfair of me to expect the hash to understand that. The GM obviously didn’t, as Astronut whipped me for my sesquipedalian tendencies. (Now you’re just showing off again. – Ed.)

Ripper understood “magnanimous” anyway. He slunk up to me and whispered proudly, “It’s what comes out of volcanoes, isn’t it?” Well, I thought it was funny. Oh, never mind. I’m talking to myself here, obviously.

And picking up the idea of linking hash names to form a whole new concept (see the Whingeing Camel Machine group of returnees earlier) Phoney, who had obviously been thinking this up for ages, hence his distraction, hauled in the Impossible Bushy Camel combo – obviously a refugee from the Wild West Show. So all three were punished for their names. As you can see, it was all going a bit pear-shaped here.

And finally, a big farewell to Peeking Bong, who’s off back to his mountain for a while. What a perfect hasher – always pays his subs, runs the web page, holds great parties, brings my clothes back (Enough of that! – Ed.) and spends most of the year out of the country, doing wonders for our cash flow.

On to the on-on which was rather more up-market than we slobs are used to – all napkins and air-con and excellent food, but not really conducive to standing on the table and singing rude songs. A fair slew of cheery souls moved on to Mata Hari’s till the wee hours. Thanks for the lift, Phoney – I was amazed you could still see, let alone drive…

See you all next week at the F—ck Me shoes run, which Indy and I recce-ed on Saturday. I had a bit of a shock putting my shoes on as I found something small, soft and green nestling inside one of them, going “Ribbit!” And if anyone says anything says anything about the story of my life consisting of similar disappointments – well, I’d probably agree with you….(Not that they normally go “Ribbit!” – Ed.) Oh, stop being pedantic….

On on

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